The Dream
by ivanaalina
Summary: I have no idea how to do summaries, but just basic Chandler/Kent stuff, slowly developing and hopefully with a happy end. Changed rating to T, because there is nothing really explicit in this story, so far.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I fell in love with Whitechapel, and this just came to me. I hope it is ok, as I have read some amazing stories, and my is no where near as good, but it just came to me and I want to share it with amazing people who love it just as much.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Whitechapel. ITV does.**

**The Dream**

Long, brown curls were swaying on the edges of his dream. Above him he could almost feel the weight of the other body, of fingers making

trails on his arms, of lips kissing the dip of the throat, slowly pushing the tongue along the neck. His mouth finally found the other mouth, and

pressed a firm, close mouthed kiss upon them. He could feel the other mouth forming into a smile, and he opened his eyes to see a pair of large

brown eyes that looked all too familiar. Confusion seeped into his heart. The man with brown curls and incredibly brown eyes brought lips to his

ear, and wetly, hotly whispered.

"It's all right…"

At that moment the sound of an alarm clock jerked him from sleep, and the first thing that was on his mind had been: _What the fuck_.

**The Chair**

"Tea, Sir." Blond man stirred from his thoughts.

"Yes. Thank you." He said without looking up, gesturing vaguely to his desk. He waited for the young man to leave his office, and only then did

he look up. His eyes locked up with the eyes of the younger man, something hungry from the deep of his belly churned, and it must have

showed for the younger man blushed, and gulped, his Adam apple bobbing in the process. Memory of the dream came back to him, and as he

groaned the younger man took a step back, hitting the chair that he hadn't seen behind him, tumbling with it and feel.

"Oh my god." The blond man jumped from his desk, but by the time he came to the younger man, he was already being ushered up.

"You are such a moppet, Kent." His colleague said , laughingly. Kent face was red from embarrassment.

"Are you alright Emerson?" Chandler's use of Kent's first name made everyone turn their heads and face them.

Kent's eyes snapped open and he was frozen between the the motions of trying to close his mouth and the inability of his brain to process the

action. Chandler didn't seem to pick up his slip, and took Kent by the elbow in an obvious attempt to steady him. Neither of them noticed that

their colleagues seem to be having a silent eyes conversation at the same tame that this was happening. A stern look from the DS sent Mansell

out of the office, leaving the chair on the ground; the other two seemed more busied and interested in the papers on their desks more than

ever.

_Did he just called me Emerson_, young man thought to himself, _and is he holding me right now_.

"Ummm…" Chandler seemed to be regaining some of his composure as he released the hold on DC elbow.

"I… Hope you are alright."

"Yeah…" Kent smiled although dazedly, "I'm alright." Then he proceeded to check himself out to see that he really was.

"Alright." He confirmed.

Chandler was appraising him too, inhaling a small, short breath, and the memories, and sensations from his dream flooded back. Fighting the urge to grab Kent and do something completely inappropriate to him; he nodded, and briskly went to his office shutting the door with a loud bang.


	2. Chapter 2

**Re-updated. This is just a hopefully a small contribution to community of Whitechapel, and the way to spread the word about this amazing show. Comments and constructive criticism are welcomed.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Whitechapel. ITV does.**

**The Other Dream**

He could hear a voice calling to him, calling his name. "Emerson…" as if in a softest whisper that carried for miles, it was filled with longing and anticipation, and he could not be sure where it was coming from, who was the real owner if the voice. He knew he was in the incident room, and there were so many whiteboards in it, but they were not filled with pictures or written on at all; they were black. _That is wrong_, he thought to himself. But then the voice seemed to be coming from behind him, from behind one of the boards, and he tried moving around and moving them, but it was the boards would not budge. The voice was calling him again, and it was as if were trying to guide him to… to what, to whom. He knew that voice, he had followed it many times before, had trusted it implicitly. He was finding his way through a maze of whiteboards, no blackboards, _where they always black_, he was getting closer when he felt an arm grab him, and press him to the body which owned the voice. _Yes. Of course_, he thought.

"You." He said.

Their bodies were pressed so close together that he felt that they were melting into each other. He felt like his entire body had been engulfed in flames. The other hand came to caress his jaw, tilting it a little up so they could look into each others eyes. Another breathless "Emerson…" spilled from the lips he dreamed of kissing so many times. They were close, so very close now, he could feel their breaths mingling. He was shaking, no somebody was shaking him.

"Hey, Emerson! Wake up, you'll be late…"

"No." he moaned.

He abruptly opened his eyes to see his roommate standing above him obviously trying to wake him up.

"You overslept you alarm." He jumped so fast and unexpectedly from his bad that he pushed his roommate.

"Sorry." He said as she landed on her ass. "Uh…Thanks."

"Whatever." She said got up, and left the room, leaving Emerson as he prepared as fast as he could for his workday.

**The Incident Room**

It wasn't until a few days later that DS Miles had received a message from Kent that he would be late. It was a bit odd but it did happen. When he came in the boy looked like a rock star shoved into a suit.

Meg noticed that the boss had arrived before her. And if they had been anybody else she would have suspected something. But they were themselves, and Kent had sent messages to both her and Skip, she heard the Skip say so herself. When Kent came in all Meg could think was _that is a good look on the kid_, those unruly curls that just begged to be touched.

"Sorry, I'm late." Kent said.

"No, don't apologize. I'm rather enjoying the view." Meg said.

Kent blushed.

"Look at Kent. Finally getting some. Aaa?" Mansell said, patting Kent on the shoulder and waggling his eyebrows.

"What!?" Kent snapped, "I just didn't hear the alarm. Do you know how long does it take to make this," he pointed to his hair, "look presentable. I would have been an hour late."

"Well, I think you look hot. Bed hair is really your look." Meg said.

Kent just snorted.

"You lot! Stop mocking about and go back to work." Skip snapped and everybody went on with their work.

Miles cast a quick look at Joe who seemed as if he was about to have a heart attack. His whole body seemed to have frozen and on his face was a look of utter fear, as if had realized something that had scared him shitless.

**A/N: I am writing this mostly for my own sanity. I also don't have a beta (my friend is reading and reviewing it for me), so the mistakes are my own. Also I want to say thank you to lovely iaorana for leaving a comment. You are amazing**


	3. Chapter 3

**So here is a short update, I don't have the time for writing but I will finish this story even if it is a little slow on updates. Also I have to mention I have no beta, and am not a native English speaker, so all mistakes are my own, so you can freely call me out on them. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Whitechapel. ITV does.**

Chapter III

_No, no, no, no_. his brain repeated. _Stop it._ But the order he was giving to himself seemed pointless, as his mind kept conjuring images of his own hands roaming through brown curls, almost being able to feel the texture of fine silky strands. He grabbed his pot of tiger balm and started furiously applying it to his temples.

_What was happening to him? Why these thoughts, this obsession, with those big thrusting eyes, that were somehow looking at him. Yes, always looking. But how? Like he was what… Some sort of a hero. Yes, someone to be believed trusted._

"Poor kid." He sighed and added to himself, "Me, a hero." He smiled bitterly, composed himself, got up from his desk and went to Miles's.

"Anything?" he asked

"Sorry, Nib's. It seems that criminals are taking a day off."

He looked around the incident room. Riley was immersed in papers on her desk, reviewing something, probably just trying to make herself feel useful. Mansell was just rifling through his, but he could his that his other hand was under the desk, texting of course.

_Well it's not like he has something better to do. _

And then his eyes fell on Kent, who was trying to smooth his hair and at the same time trying to read papers that were on his desk. Chandler smiled a fraction at the futility of his attempts; his curls just seemed to spring up again. As if he could feel being watched Kent raised his eyes, looking confused for a minute, but then returned the smile, bashfully and apologetically. And then the Chandler's smile changed, turned into a sort of smile that he hadn't experienced for a long time, the one when your crush just looks at you and you know, that at that moment the world stopped, that that one exchange of smiles keeps you going through the day. That feeling of your brain being fuzzy and not quite there, when people just look at you, raise they eyebrows, nudge you and ask what are you so happy about.

_Maybe, just maybe I can be OK with this_. He thought to himself, thanked Miles and went back to his office.

**A/N**. I just want to thank everybody who read the story whether you reviewed or not. But those who have reviewed this you make my heart soar. Hugs and kisses (and a batch of my favorite cookies) for iorana, MeganKray99, Dicentra, and saizine for leaving reviews.

P.S. If you don't like what I write go to lovely saizine's profile and read A New Romantic, it is amazing, beautiful, and heartbreaking… I could go on for hours, just everything I wish my writing could be.


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